My Daughter’s Face in the Wall

My Daughter’s Face in the Wall

Author: Corey Turner

Chapter 8: Ashes and Guilt

When I got home that night, my wife was waiting. "Where’ve you been all day? Ben needed you. I needed you." Her voice was sharp, tired, desperate.

I slumped onto the sofa, a dull ache pounding in my head. The homeless man’s words looped in my mind, tying knots of guilt and fear. If I didn’t find the truth now, maybe I never would.

"That old place is about to be demolished," I told her, reaching for an excuse. "I went back today to handle it, and it might take a few more days. I can get a good amount of money."

Her eyes lit up, relief chasing away the anger. "Really? That’s great... that’s great..."

She stopped nagging, but I could see the exhaustion etched in her face. Night fell. I lay in bed, unable to sleep, haunted by dreams. The handrail twisted under my palm, wood groaning like it wanted to scream. Something cold brushed my ankle, and a face bulged out of the grain. I stumbled, falling, the sound of fingernails scraping echoing all around.

I woke with a jolt. My wife wasn’t in bed. I got up and found her on the balcony, squatting by an iron basin, flames flickering in her eyes. She was burning Lily’s old clothes—the ones I couldn’t bear to throw away. I didn’t say a word. I just watched as she wept, the sound of her sobs soft and hollow. I remembered buying Lily her favorite dress, the way she spun in it, laughing. Now it was just ashes. Grief had hollowed my wife in ways I’d never seen.

Later, I watched Ben sleep, his small chest rising and falling. The weight of both my children pressed on me—one lost, one slipping away, and me, caught in the middle.

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